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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205388">apologia.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards'>clickingkeyboards</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I wrote from a killer’s pov, M/M, Murder, Stephen’s POV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:02:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>720</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The final thoughts of Stephen Bampton as an innocent man.</p><p>(Stephen’s perspective on the denouement of AFT.)</p><p>
  <i>Title taken from the chapter twenty-seven of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Stephen Bampton/Bertie Wells</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>apologia.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Daisy Wells and Hazel Wong came barrelling through the door in that moment, babbling and breathing hard, protesting nonsensically that Lord Hastings was innocent. While Daisy Wells had struck me right from the start as an odd copy of Bertie, albeit far less intelligent — Bertie told me that she only pretended, but I wasn’t sure that I believed him — I was fond of Hazel Wong. She seemed to be sweet on me, fluttery and awkward and flushed, always skittering after Daisy and following behind her like one of the Wellses poor dogs. Pity that the girl seemed to have no thoughts of her own, I remember thinking, because she could have been charming if that were not true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She elbowed Daisy, prompting her to speak for the both of them as per usual, and she came unstuck from her fear and quietness in a rush. Something else seemed to unstick inside her too, and she was suddenly fierce and red in the face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” she shrieked, gasping. “Stop! Daddy didn’t do it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t feel much remorse for her, though her despair did make me feel something rather odd. I had lost my father too, perhaps that was the cause of it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you think so,” said Inspector Priestley in his calm and soothing baritone voice, “but unless someone in this case can give me some evidence to the contrary—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy rudely interrupted him, flushed pink and indignant. “But we do have evidence!” she cried. “Lots! And we know who the real murderer was too!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I leant forward, my hand on the bookcase beside the door. Who was she to blame?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t Daddy,” she said, her blue eyes fixing on each and every person in the room in turn. I realised then how utterly wrong I had been to think her alike to Bertie: his eyes were nothing like hers, loving and bright where hers were hateful and bitter. “It was Stephen!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I staggered back against the door, my feet failing me while I wanted so desperately to run, to clear the library and the hall and the entire godforsaken house, and leave it all as ashes behind me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bertie didn’t deserve this. If I could have pinned the blame on anybody else, I would have. His mother, or his meddling uncle and that wicked tutor, or his godforsaken sister and her bitter little companion. Anybody but poor, bumbling, pig-headed Lord Hastings, who framed himself without me even having to try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had all been too easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girls were begging, pleading with the inspector, and I stared at Hazel Wong.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Say it isn’t true,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I tried to beg her with my eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tell them I didn’t do it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lie for me, Hazel Wong. Please.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned away from me. “It’s true,” she said to the inspector in a rush. “We’ve got evidence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please! Listen to us, we helped you before, didn’t we? Please!” Daisy pleaded, hands clasped together around that godforsaken book, and I almost felt bad for bringing her family down around her ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she wasn’t Bertie. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bertie</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He would be, in his room, scared and afraid, waiting for me to come and explain, tell him that the girls were wrong and I was innocent. He deserved that much, one last bit of unbroken trust. If I could pull him into my arms and hold him there and lie just to protect him, I would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tried to make a break for it. I scrambled for the door but my palms were slick with sweat and my breaths came anew every second with short gasps, and then the inspector snapped, “HOLD HIM!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An officer touched my arm, and that was it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gasped, I sighed, and I wanted to be dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting there, fixed in my chair and feeling the most boiling hatred that I ever had in my life, I tried to telegraph an amusing thought to Bertie, hoping I could make him laugh one last time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t amusing at all, looking back on it. I think that I became demented over that weekend, and I rather enjoyed that euphoric feeling of insanity.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You know, I always thought that you would be beside me when an officer was bidden to hold me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I thought ruefully. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I always thought it would be sodomy.</span>
  </em>
</p>
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